Ah, that's better! [_He goes to the divan and gets himself a cushion, then sits facing FAKRASH._] Now I'll tell you an idea that's just struck me--the Professor said himself that nothing would convince him but seeing you with his own eyes. Well--why shouldn't you _go_ to him? FAKRASH. [_Eagerly._] Tell me where he hath his abode, and I will visit him this same instant. [_About to rise._ HORACE. [_Stopping him._] No, you don't! Just when he'll be turning in! You'll go about ten o'clock to-morrow morning, when he's had his breakfast--or you won't go at all! FAKRASH. Be it so! I will restrain my impatience until the morrow. But the place of his dwelling? HORACE. Wait a bit. I won't have him rattled. [_FAKRASH looks puzzled._] I mean, no popping up through the floor or down the chimney. You'll just walk quietly up to his front door, and ask to see him. Then you can explain who you are and what you want, and, if you're decently polite, I'm sure the Professor will give you back your property. FAKRASH. All these instructions will I observe. HORACE. But you can't go in _that_ get-up, or you'll have a crowd of small boys at your heels. Couldn't you raise the sort of costume respectable elderly gentlemen go about in nowadays? FAKRASH. I hear and obey. To assume such garb as is worn by aged dwellers in this city will be the simplest affair possible! HORACE. All right, then. And you must go to No. 47 Cottesmore Gardens, Kensington, and ask whoever lets you in if you may see Professor Futvoye. Think you can remember all that? FAKRASH. [_Rising._] Indelibly is it inscribed upon the tablet of memory. To-morrow, then, at the appointed hour, will I repair to the abode of this sage. HORACE. [_Who has risen at the same time as FAKRASH, and thrown the cushions back on the divan._] Good! And you'd better come on to me afterwards and let me know how you got on. Not _here_--at my office, Great College Street, Westminster. Got _that_ down on your tablet? FAKRASH. It is done. And now, O young man of abundant talents and obliging disposition, I will take my leave of thee. [_Going to centre of hall._] For I must seek my Palace in the Garden of Irem and repose myself until it be day. But--[_turning_]--ere I depart, tell me by what service I can reward thy kindness? HORACE. Well,--if you _really_ want to do me a good turn,--you might change these halls again. FAKRASH. What? Are they insufficient for thy dignity? HORACE. No, no--they're much too grand! I--I want my old rooms back! FAKRASH. [_Pained._] Of what avail is it to confer favours upon _thee_, since thou rejectest them every one! HORACE. [_Approaching him, and speaking soothingly._] No, not every one. There was old Wackerbath--the client you sent me--I haven't rejected _him_. I'm going to build him a country-house. FAKRASH. Ha! And on what spot is this mansion to be erected? HORACE.